Deborah
by Lynny M
Summary: Deborah is a pokémon breeder, and a trainer named Keiko is in love with her. ::Yuri,Shoujo-ai:: ::Oneshot::


**Deborah**

A Pokémon fanfiction

**Author's Notes:** It's spring now, and spring is Keiko's time, I've found. For those of you that don't know, Keiko is an original character, though I hope that won't drive you pokemon fans away. This story was written as a gift. Enjoy.

To **Maddy** - a good friend who makes me happy. And likes my lesbian stories.

With the lyrics to **Heather Alexander's** _Come With Me, Sir_, from her album _A Gypsy's Home,_ in mind.

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Deborah—(that was her name, a sweet name for a woman)—lived in a large brown house, one of three hidden homes built on the edges of an eight-acre field just south of Fuchsia City. The fields and the houses made up Glenn Ranch, and it was there that Deborah and the other breeders made their lucrative living. They—well, they _bred_.

It was a novel idea to Keiko, who, as a Trainer, specialized in gyms and battles, not pedigrees or families. She did understand that, like there were variations in the training path, there were variations—different sorts—of breeders as well. The first breeders Keiko had ever met were less into reproduction and more into upbringing. Deborah, and the others who lived at Glenn Ranch, they _specialized _in babies. The tools they used were hormone gauges, menstrual cycles, gestation periods, and the like. Very different from Keiko's tools — storage balls, potion syringes, raw power and dirt.

In fact, Keiko had made a pick up line out of it. They had met at a pokémon fair, both attendees, on a hot spring day. Keiko was instantly drawn to her. She was soft, nicely dressed, and soulful in a way that Keiko had never seen but had often pondered. So Keiko reached to touch her hand and said, as strongly as she could:

"I don't know much about rearing—I admit I am a trainer through and through—but I'm sure it takes a talent to start a life."

Indeed it did. It took a God-given talent, and Deborah had it. She had a light in her soul. She was so quiet, calm, and balanced. She—she always knew what Keiko wanted and how she felt. She had a plain, unassuming self-sense about her.

Keiko called on her two days later with a bouquet of flowers held behind her back, standing at the front door like a boy waiting for his prom date. Deborah had been charmed, it seemed, for Keiko found no prejudice awaiting her. The time they spent together was neither precious nor forgettable. It was just a romance. It was simply itself. They gave to each other—no, no, it was Deborah who gave to Keiko, and she asked nothing in return. That was the magic part.

Keiko learned at lot on the Glenn Ranch fields. She would follow Deborah through the day, a silent untrained partner, helping with whatever chores she could. There were many fenced pastures and stables, and within were pokémon of all elements and species. Deborah had many duties, and Keiko loved them all, admiring how her friend never seemed rushed.

In the mornings, Deborah took milk from Cody Miller's Tauros cows. This milk was thick with fat, and Deborah bowl-fed her pregnant mothers with it. There was also the need to arrange meals of fresh produce, grains, and raw meats. Keiko helped with this as best she could, as she also prepared her own pokémons' diets.

There were also the hormone tests to give to those who were slated to produce offspring. Deborah took samples of blood, or saliva, or urine, and fed the strips into a meter for scrutiny. Sometimes an inject of estrogen or progestogen was needed. Deborah gave the sweetest shots with a steady needle and a gentle plunger.

Once, early in the afternoon, a gravid Persian went into labor. Keiko watched as Deborah assisted with the birth. She pondered how such a clean woman could touch the blood, the amniotic fluid, the afterbirth—and still maintain her virgin composure.

Deborah's home was much like herself; quiet and clean. Keiko spent many hours in the pink folds of the bed, immersed in the smell of powders and perfumes. The windows were always open, and the air was always fresh and flowing. And every time they made love, she was silent and knowing. Keiko realized that Deborah gave all she could to her, that giving was perhaps the only pleasure for her, and that she needed nothing from this trainer, nothing at all from this rough Japanese girl.

And this was the way it was. When Keiko left for her training, it was as a fuller person—full of awe for a Breeder named Deborah.

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